Excuse Me
by The 525601st Minute
Summary: Roger can't stop belching, thanks to a stunt of his involving soda. Lots of soda. When Mark goes on a date for the day, leaving him with Maureen, the rocker has no choice but to ask for her help. Rated T for language again . My first "humor" fic.
1. Roger's Brilliant Idea

**A/N: This is my first try for something humorous. My other story has stalled for now because I'm having issues regarding how to move it along, so I kinda need something to relieve my writing jones for the time being. This takes place during (or possibly post-)RENT. No real pairings, unless you count Mark and his date (appearing next chapter). R&R as always :)**

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_Chapter 1_

Early one morning, Mark lay curled up in his bed, intently sucking his thumb as he often did in his sleep, deep in the throes of yet another erotic dream involving Maureen. "Oh, Mo…yeah, that's it, right there…take me, don't leave me baby, mmm…" he moaned. "That's the sp—"

"UuurrrAAAARRUUrrrp!"

Mark was instantly catapulted from his fantasy. "GAAAH!" he screamed. "What the fuck was that noise?" he quivered. Tentatively and cautiously, he tiptoed out of his bed, clutching his beloved Scarfy like a garroting wire and gently nudging the door open a bit with his foot in order to peep through the small crack he had made.

What he saw was a dedicated-to-doing-God-knows-what shirtless Roger standing in the kitchen area of the loft, pounding cans of what appeared to be Coca-Cola. The filmmaker noticed he would stop every few minutes to step back, pound his sternum-area lightly, and slowly release an enormous belch or two. Mark rolled his eyes, set Scarfy on a chair, and fully opened the door as he began to walk toward Roger. "Rog…can I ask you something?" he carefully began. Roger noticed his friend for the first time. "*urp* Sure," the rocker exhaled slightly.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

"Oh, this," Roger said nonchalantly, as if the several cans stacked around him were nothing. "This--*arp* 'scuse me—is Phase One of my little, quote-unquote, 'project'."

"Which is?" Mark could hardly wait to hear Roger explain this one.

"To build the largest wall of Coke cans in the New York City, right here in the loft." Rog beamed like it was the greatest idea ever.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Y'know, there ARE these crazy new places called 'recycling centers' where you can get all this shit for free, right?"

Roger rolled right back at him. "Oh fuck off, camera boy. It's more fun this way." He chugged the last can and burped obnoxiously in Mark's face. "You're sick, man," Mark said as he shook his head. Roger smirked. "Says the man wearing teddy-bear boxers."

Mark froze and quickly looked down, realizing he'd forgotten to put his robe on. The filmmaker turned beet red and muttered, "Shut up."

"By the way, next time you dream about fucking Maureen, try and control your moaning. I know your whole _raison d'être_ is 'mucho masturbation', but JESUS. You'd think the entire Broadway cast of Cats was in your bedroom from the way you caterwaul."

Steely (and still slightly embarrassed that someone had seen his favorite pair of boxers), Mark responded, "I said shut UP. And put a shirt on – you look like the goddamn Michelin Man with that bloated gut of yours." Still feeling the need to egg his friend on, Roger looked down at his stomach and rubbed it sexily, striking a pose. "C'mon Cohen, you *know* you love it…" He belched again.

Mark swiftly retorted with his middle finger and slammed his bedroom door.

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**A/N #2: Again, this is my first attempt at humorous fiction, so my apologies if it isn't funny. :/ Chapter Two should be coming very soon (much sooner than the one for my Friends-RENT crossover 9.9). Stay tuned!**


	2. Maureen Drops In

**A/N: Here's the second chapter, after weeks of deliberation/planning/laziness. I hope you like! As always, R&R. :D**

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_Chapter 2_

Shortly thereafter, there came a knock at the door. "It's probably my date," Mark called from his bedroom, frantically trying (and failing) to put his right leg through his brown trousers.

Roger stifled a laugh as he watched Mark fall flat on his ass while attempting to quickly clothe himself. The rocker looked at his watch – the display read:

**10:15 AM**

"Who the hell goes on a date at 10:15 in the morning? That's so…_kindergarten_," Roger teased. "Very funny, Monstro," Mark sniped. "Just answer the door already. She's been knocking for like 2 minutes now. And FOR GOD'S SAKE, put a SHIRT ON!"

"'Put a bleh bleh bleh fmeh'…who are you, my mother?" Rog mumbled under his breath as he picked up an old button-down shirt and tugged it over his head, finding it to be excruciatingly tight. It hadn't fit all that well before, but in his present condition, he looked like the S.S. Roger Davis, stuck in the Strait of Green Plaid. _Memo: never, _ever_ drink two six-packs of soda and then try to fit into an old shirt,_ he mentally-noted as he walked toward the door. He opened it to find…

…Maureen.

"*urp* Maureen? What the hell are you doing here? You can't be Mark's date - I thought you were a lesbian. Well, y'know, for now." Maureen glared at him. "Ha-ha-ha, asshole. I just came over to see what you two lunkheads were doing today." It was then that she caught a good glimpse of Roger for the first time. "What happened to _you_?" she asked, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Roger glared back at her. "Long *arp* story," he muttered.

"Maureen! Hey…" By now Mark had managed to completely dress himself. Roger had to admit, for the hurry that he seemed to be in, he looked impressive, wearing his best "formal" shirt, his usual brown pants (but pressed), and a small red tie. "Hi baby!" she smiled and gave the filmmaker a giant, back-breaking hug. Once he was free of her grasp, Mark said, "Listen, Mo, I've got a date coming in like the next 5 minutes or so, so I won't be around much today…I hope that's okay." He looked down and blushed a little, and Maureen tittered. Roger rolled his eyes – for two people who had broken up, they acted quite lovey-dovey around each other. "Oh, I have an idea!" Maureen suddenly spoke up. "I could stay and keep Roger company today."

"That'd be great! Maybe you can deflate him," Mark chortled as he hitched a thumb toward Roger, who stared at the two incredulously. "You're both high if you think I'd *arp* willingly spend a day with Little Miss PETA over there." Maureen put her hands on her hips. "Well, who else is gonna be here once Marky leaves? Besides, you're too damn stupid to figure this out yourself."

"Oh, if THAT isn't the mooing, brunette pot calling the kettle black! I seem to recall you thinking that the Vatican was a *burp* rare, extinct breed of Bulgarian condor until you were 19." Maureen gasped. _"You swore you'd never tell anyone about that!"_ she hissed. Roger grinned evilly and was about to fire off some more when the phone rang.

_*beep*_ "Speeeak."

"Hey Roger, it's Mimi. We haven't spent much time together lately, and I'm getting a little lonely, so…I'm gonna come over, okay? See ya in a few."

Maureen clapped her hands gleefully. "Ooh, we can BOTH help! This'll be fun!" She pulled Roger in close to her and glared. "…_and_ I can get some payback in," she growled. Roger gulped. "Maaark!" he whined in desperation.

"Sorry pal, I can't help you," the filmmaker shrugged. He heard the clicking of stiletto heels, followed by three loud knocks at the door. "Oh, that's Angela," Mark smiled. "I'll see you guys later! Have fun and please…try not to kill each other," he muttered as he left.

Maureen turned to the rocker. "Now," she sighed, "where to begin?"

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**A/N: Well, that's chapter two. I'll try and get the third up soon! :)**


End file.
